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Louvre Cats


03.01.12 Posted in words to linger on by

EV Noechel has been active in rodent rescue for a decade and currently fosters small animals (rats, mice, hamsters, gerbils, and degus, to name a few) for Carolina Pet Rescue. She has been the recipient of the Kelty Award for Outstanding Local Animal Rights Activism as well as the Culture and Animals Foundation grant for artists and writers. Visit her website.

Louvre Cats
By EV Noechel

1.
When I lived among
The sand and gods,
I was stroked like my fur
Would comb through
Tangled minds
And leave them shining.
I like it here, wrapped
Blanket-tight
Behind glass. Here
Thousands worship.
They pet me
With their eyes.

2. 
My mother was the queen
Of a desert long moved by
Breezes, covering the world
With its sands.
My father, the bastard son of
Anubis. A mistake of species
With the power of gods.
I was a kitten, a first and last
Breath and a thousand sad sighs.
Born exhausted, they named
Me “disappointment” and bandaged
Their wounds.
I am the smallest of the cats
In this twinkling case
Of melted sand. Do I
Disappoint you, too?

3. 
“Cat,” they write
On machine built papyrus.
Not a single dust flake
Touches my bones
That isn’t centuries
Older than their known
Ancestors and yet
They name me, “Cat.”
Yes, I know of radioglyphs
And the way men
Find year in the blackness
Of burnt sugars, yet
In my well-scrubbed
Brain pan, my eye turns
Inward. In your passing,
Staring jewels, agate, garnet,
Jade and amber (a flea trapped
Within the core), bare or
Magnified through double
Glass coins, I see a prince,
A King, trapped in threads.

4.
I end on a note sung too sharp.
Bast, my sister, it can’t be so.
My brain, yolk of my whitegrey
Omelette, seeps from an accidental
Hit, or so I still believe. Not now,
Not ever will my an betray me
With a leather coated weight, a
Snap of my temple and holy blood
That fills my ear and showers
Like a fresh underground spring
When I shake my head, no
No, a mistake has been made.
There will be apologies and
Warm wine in a saucer and a 
Crisp dry leaf to chase. Toss
In the air like a kitten. He will
Be back for me. He will
Cut these bandages, once
I have healed. Kiss the scar
And cry. Oh cat, oh cat. I 
Am so very sorry. In a blur I
See his sacrifice. He cries to
Sister Bast, even as he holds me.
Even as he wraps my wounds
In medicinal herbs, fresh torn
Cloth. I am propped, balance
On my hind toes, and though
I keep company with the dead
He watches my wounds for closure,
Prays, day and night, at my feet.



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